


Sam and the Great Cursed Penis

by Cards_Slash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean figures out that Sam has a cursed penis and calls on Cas to help him fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam and the Great Cursed Penis

**Author's Note:**

> repost from livejournal (originally written 2011)

Dean had known for a while that Sam’s penis was (for lack of a better description) somewhat of a cursed object. He figured it out after that first time they had sex (while drunk, he should mention) and the next week he got electrocuted in a freak accident and ended up nearly dead and only saved by a bitch and her pet reaper. Only then he was willing to chalk it up to coincidence because—well, there were stranger things that had happened than getting fucked by your brother and dying all within the same five-day period. 

The second time they didn’t get to the full-out ass-sex but they did some mutual hand job shit and he ended up getting his ass kicked by a demon bitch that seemed to have inappropriate thing for their father going on but he got his ass kicked so often it didn’t even register.

Then they had some frantic life-or-death sex after he all but bawled at Sam about how he couldn’t live without him and Dad (which retrospectively was a waste of time) and he ended up getting his insides turned into pudding by a demon bastard and then slammed by a semi driven by another demon-possessed bastard.

It wasn’t just him either, Sam’s penis didn’t discriminate it killed everyone it came into contact with from Jessica to Madison (who Sam both cursed and then killed) to Ruby (who ok, Dean killed himself but the point stood). Those chicks were spread out few and far between so Dean didn’t bother to connect those dots so much as notice that there seemed to be a pattern of Sam falling for dying chicks.

Then, when he thought back on it, they’d fucked before they stopped at the diner that Sam disappeared from and he felt that that the fact that he sold his soul a few days later and that effectively lead to his early death and being damned to hell could be added to the list of Sam's Dick of Death related incidents. They didn’t fuck for most of the year leading up to him going to hell (he was busy fucking everyone else) but they did have sex the day before the whole Mystery Spot thing and Sam losing his mind over how Dean died over and over and over and over again. He didn’t remember dying all those times but _retrospectively speaking_ he could probably tie all those back into the sex-a-thon they had right before that.

They also had sex before he got eaten by hell hounds but that was going to happen no matter what (he was pretty sure).

They had sex once when he got back from hell and he ended up getting his ass handed to him by Alastair, King of Torture, and that was more than enough bad touch to last him for a while and Sam was busy turning himself into King of the Demons anyway so having sex with him was dangerous for an entirely different reason. As it turned out after they managed to bring Satan back from the depths of hell, he might have given into the urge to fuck whatever was closest (read: Sam) and ended up getting stomach cancer as a consolation prize.

Then there was that time Sam was all upset about the anti-Christ getting away and how Cas had the brilliant idea of killing the kid for the good of humanity or some shit like that. (Sam never did like it when you explained how killing something that would be dangerous before it actually was dangerous because he had a whole complex there.) Dean gave him a freebie handjob in the Impala and lost a poker game to a witch and became the senior citizen version of himself. Not that he was sure those two were connected but he knew for a fact that he’d gotten friendly with Mr. Cursed Object that normally resided in Sam’s pants and got as close to dying of natural causes as he thought he’d ever get.

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt love after he watched Bobby trying to deal with having to kill his wife (ok, for the second time, that sucked) but Sam used all of that to his advantage when he convinced him to get naked with him in a hotel room and that ended with them dying, going to heaven and finding out that God was a douchebag. (That was reason six hundred why Dean was never going to swallow again.) 

Looking back, he thought he was pretty damn smart to turn Sam down when he wanted to fuck after he killed Brady because he ended up getting cozy with Death in a Chicago pizzeria and that could have gone a whole different way if he was walking around post a session with the Great Cursed Penis.

Sam went to hell (and yeah, ok, they totally had weepy sex because they were never going to see each other again) but he made sure to put that off long enough that Lucifer had the chance to beat Dean's face in enough that he would have died from a brain hemorrhage if Cas hadn’t gone off and pulled a miracle out of his ass and shown up all shiny and super-powered.

Dean figured out that Sam had a cursed penis after he got back from hell and he was all soulless and they were talking. Sam said, “have you noticed every time we have sex you die?” 

(That totally counted as Dean figuring it out because he was the one that nudged Sam into finally admitting it out loud. Admitting a problem was the first step to fixing it.)

“It’s not just you, either,” Sam continued on, “every woman I’ve ever had sex with has died too.” Then he went on to talk about how he was hungry and only Dean was left wondering if there was some reason to be suspicious of Sam’s Penis as one of the Harbingers of Death or something.

Then Sam got his soul back and Dean wanted to fuck him so bad he could taste it (and that wasn’t all together a taste he wanted in his mouth for weeks at a time). He was good at reading between the lines of his brother’s forehead wrinkles so he knew that Sam wanted him too but every time he got close to offering to have crazy-hot-you’re-back-for-real sex with him he remembered the Great Cursed Penis and he decided it was all for the best if he didn’t die again.

It was going great—the while denial thing—until they had to go to the town where Sam had whored his way through half the women there and they were all _Mysteriously Dead_. Sam with a soul didn’t seem to see that his dick was spreading death like it was going out of style and while he was sure Death appreciated the business, Dean really, really needed to fuck his brother’s brains out after that little stunt with the hell flash-back and he _couldn’t_.

Cas was, then, his only option. “I pray to Castiel to—how do I say this? Sam’s got a cursed penis and I got needs, man. Get your ass down here.” He didn’t figure that would get the angel down on earth because there was a war in heaven but when he opened his eyes Cas was standing there. “That’s what you come down for, really?”

“Your needs are important, Dean,” Cas said, “Sam’s penis is cursed?” (Ok, so if Cas seemed a little more interested in Sam’s penis than his needs he didn’t bother to notice because his need was Sam’s penis so it was all good as long as Cas was going to help.)

Dean explained the facts to Cas who nodded very seriously. They went inside the hotel room where Sam was doing some egghead bullshit on the computer and Cas stopped next to his chair while Sam wrinkled up his forehead and looked confused. 

“Sam,” Cas said and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “may I see your cursed penis?”

Some days, (just occasionally), Dean really wished that Cas wasn’t so good at being direct. Sam looked offended (understandably) and dropped one hand to his crotch to protect his prized cursed penis and looked back and forth between them. “What? I don’t have a cursed penis—what are you talking about?”

“Dude,” Dean said, “you do so. Everything you fuck dies—now show the angel your penis so we can have yay you’re back from hell sex.”

“We—I—he’s an _angel_ ,” Sam hissed at him.

Cas still had a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I am aware that you have sex with your brother, Sam. That is not of import. However, your cursed penis is very important.”

“I don’t have a cursed penis,” Sam insisted.

“You’ve got the death touch, Sammy,” Dean said, “now stand up and drop your pants or Cas is going to make you—right?”

Sam stood up and pushed his jeans down and glared at him over Cas’ head which wasn’t difficult on any given day but especially easy when Cas was getting on his knees to stare at Sam’s penis. “It doesn’t seem to be cursed,” Cas said from where he was, on his knees, staring at Sam’s penis.

“Ha,” Sam said.

“Whatever, death dick—don’t you have special angel senses? That thing is cursed.” Dean had seen the Penis of Death from all angles so he knew it didn’t look funny or smell funny or glow or anything of that shit but he also knew that he died every time came into contact with it. 

“Yes,” Cas said and stood up again, “your penis is cursed.”

“What?” Sam demanded. He stared down at his penis like it had betrayed him (and really everyone else too) and then yanked his pants back up. “Fix it.”

Cas made Castiel-thinking-face which was more of a head-tilt thing than an actual expression and after a brief moment of deep thought he cleared his throat. “We could try purifying it.”

“You should do that,” Dean said.

“It would not be unpleasant for you,” Cas assured him, “the ritual is quite simple. You will need a bottle of lubricant and a reliable surface.” He was so serious when he said things like ‘lubricant’ and Dean was sometimes a teenager who giggled at stupid shit so he may have laughed but he shut up when Cas glared at him. “Dean, I would be more comfortable if you would leave during the purification ritual.”

“What? Why? What is this ritual?” He didn’t like anything required family members and loved ones to leave the room. Sam was giving the whole idea a second thought too if the odd angles of his eyebrows were anything go by. “What are you going to do?”

“Sam is going to perform penetrative sex with my vessel,” Cas said, “that should be enough to remove the curse.” He looked back at Sam, “I believe you should be made aware that I have not done this before.”

“Uh,” Sam said.

“What? You’re supposed to fix it not…hump it!” Dean was waving his hand around somewhat ridiculously—yes—but his angel was stealing his brother and they were going to have sex and he couldn’t even be in the room to watch it. “Find a different angel.”

Cas gave him a flat glare that told him he was not always worth the trouble and then he turned back to Sam. “Please be considerate.” Then he looked around the room. “Is that bed sturdy?”

“Should be,” Sam agreed. He had a bottle of lube from somewhere and was _following Cas to the bed_ like he believed in the whole purification ritual bullshit. “Dean, could you go outside?”

“It should only be a few minutes, Dean.”

Yeah, whatever. He went outside while they had sex and sat in the Impala because _she_ would never go off and have sex with his brother. He was listening to Led Zepplin on max volume when all the windows blew out of the hotel and the two buildings on either side of it and that sharp high-pitched wail of an angel’s true voice very nearly pierced his eardrums. Everything got suddenly very hot and then cool offed so fast it made steam roll off the ground and the hood of the Impala. He kicked the door open and ran inside the room where Cas was already dressed again and tugging his trench coat straight on his shoulders. Sam was collapsed back on the bed breathing hard and looking a little shocked and roughed up.

“That should be sufficient,” Cas said.

Dean wanted to make a witty remark about angel orgasms being like small-scale disasters but he was distracted with how his brother was supposedly cured of his cursed penis and all the multiple opportunities that would now afford him. “So he’s all good?”

“Yes,” Cas said. Then he was just gone and Sam was rolling forward off the bed to stare dumbly at the windows. He looked up at Dean and pointed at the windows and then lifted his eyebrows and made his Sam-is-impressed face.

“Whatever, grab your shit—we need to get out of here before they start asking questions.” He thought it was very rational of him to worry about their safety before his suddenly overwhelming need to take advantage of his brother’s state of nakedness. He grabbed their bags while Sam got his clothes on and drove fast and reckless to the next ratty looking motel.

Then they had hours and hours and hours of filthy, immoral, sinful sex on every surface in the motel room, in every position they were capable of making and sustaining, and as frequently as physically possible.


End file.
